Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers nor Silent Hill.

A/N: Set quite a long time after Silent Hill: The Unmaker's Pit. A look on the mechs that are taking care of the five survivors of Silent Hill. Tell me what you guys think. Like always, tell me of any mistakes and I'll fix them as soon as possible.

"talking"

'thinking'


Shattered Dreams: Prowl

It took them longer than expected and the prices paid had been high, but the war had ended and to the survivors that was all that mattered. Some were trying to pick up the pieces of lives long forgotten while others were faced with the truth that they had nothing to live for. Rebuilding was hard. The temptation to go back into the now familiar and painfully comforting war was hard to ignore by either faction.

'Maybe it's for the better he doesn't know what's going on.' - Prowl thought bitterly as he punched in the code to open the door and entered his apartment. - 'This wasn't the way I imagined things going.'

Tired optics looked around for the mech he knew was in the apartment. His apartment was small. A small living room of sorts and a recharge room, but secretaries weren't paid much and Prowl couldn't afford a better job. He was certainly qualified, but his friend couldn't take being alone for long periods of time.

The place appeared empty, but Prowl knew the other couldn't have escaped. It had taken him half a vorn to learn how to stop the other from escaping, but there was no way in the Pit the other had slipped past his precautions. The apartment was dark and Prowl grimaced as he checked his chronometer while turning on the lights. He'd been late by a breem…

'Stupid meeting.' - He thought with a sigh as he ventured further in the room. Unsubspacing a small parcel and placing it on his desk. - 'Should've left in the middle of it.'

There was a scuffling and Prowl tensed as his door wings flared up. - 'Please don't let him be violent tonight.' - He pleaded to a deity he knew existed, but had lost faith in long ago. Ratchet had offlined the other's weapons, but Jazz was resourceful and very dangerous if he felt threatened.

"Prowl? That you?' - Asked the ex-saboteur from their obscure recharge room and Prowl relaxed as he turned to look at the other mech.

"Yes, Jazz. It's me." - The tactician said unable to hide the exhaustion from his voice.

Jazz had taken a few wary steps out of the recharge room and into the light. Prowl's optics taking notice of the old human-built radio the ex-saboteur had hanging around like a necklace and the piece of pipe the other had on his hands. Prowl didn't mentioned them, although he wondered what Jazz had broken in order to acquire his makeshift weapon.

Prowl forced himself to turn his back on Jazz, door wings still as high as they could be, as he procured two energon cubes. The cube he got for himself was downed in two big swigs. The silence was almost unbearable and Prowl's spark ached as he longed for his friend to fill the room with his music.

'Primus knows I'd give anything to see you happy, Jazz.' - He thought as he approached the ex-saboteur to hand him a cube.

"You can't be him." - Jazz muttered, raising the pipe and taking a step back. - "Prowl doesn't have scars."

Prowl flinched and froze in his tracks, his free hand moving to the welding scars on his face. The ones on his chest plate were less noticeable, but his fingers ghosted over them as well.

A vorn ago, he'd been caught in an ambush and rescuing him had cost the lives of Tracks and the Aerialbots. Ironhide had dragged him back to the Autobase; chassis so horribly torn apart they hadn't been sure it was him until Ratchet confirmed it. The medic had warned him, but Prowl didn't had the luxury of following the medic's orders and as soon as he could walk he released himself from the medbay.

Prowl couldn't bring himself to care that his actions prevented the welds to heal properly and had scarred. He had a war and a friend to take care of. Ratchet was doing what he could to remove the scarring now that the war was over, but the medic had other patients to see and his own set of damaged mechs to attend to.

A tentative touch on his face shook the tactician away from the memories. His optics focused on the mech he'd called friend since they were sparklings. The mech he now admitted was the most important bot in his life.

Jazz's black fingers traced the worst scar. - "You're not Prowl." - He repeated. Grip tightening on the pipe.

"Please, Jazz." - He found himself pleading. He was so tired tonight and if Jazz kept acting like this, he knew he won't be able to get any recharge tonight.

Waking up to having your best friend trying to rip the spark out your body was not Prowl's idea of fun. Jazz's light touch on the scars of his chest plate reminding him of how he got those. At least no one had suspected a thing; believing them to be part of the injuries he got from the ambush.

"Where are the others.?" - Jazz asked, head cocked to one side as his finger kept tracing scars.

"Hound is with Mirage and Ratchet is taking care of Sideswipe and Cliffjumper." - Prowl said. - "Perceptor is with Wheeljack."

Jazz blinked as he processed the information, pipe falling on the floor with a sound that echoed around the room, and quickly moved to get the cube from the tactician's hands. Prowl's shoulder sagged in relief, door wings dropping down in the same position they'd been ever since Ratchet confirmed his friend was damaged.

"I brought something for you."

"High grade?"

"You know you can't drink that. You almost died from over energizing, remember?" - Prowl said, going back to pick the small package he brought with him.

"Too bad it didn't work." - Jazz replied in a mockery of his cheery self. - "I'd give anything for a drink."

Prowl frowned, it had been vorns since Jazz had been able to feed his addiction to highgrade, but the Porsche still crave it. The tactician approached Jazz and the ex-saboteur stopped drinking his midgrade and glanced at Prowl. What the tactician wouldn't give to see the other looking at him with trust instead of suspicion. Jazz didn't say anything, but his optics moved to the pipe and Prowl handed him the package.

Jazz took it and tore it open, a lifeless chuckle coming out of his vocalizer.

"It's newer than the ones you have in our room."

The Porsche gave him a smile. - "I like it. Thanks, Prowl."

The Datsun smiled back. He knew he shouldn't buy the ex-saboteur more radios. He knew he was enabling the other's fixation on the human-built object, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

The smile Jazz gave him reminded him of long ago. When he didn't had to keep an eye on what the other drank. When Jazz's voice was music and he brought life and cheer to everyone he met. It was that smile that kept him hoping… Kept him believing that someday Jazz will be well again.